Short and Sweet
by MaximusNightshade8
Summary: One-Shot. AU. Annabeth is having trouble writing and stays up in the middle of the night racking her brains for ideas. When Frederick Chase decides to step in and help, what will become of her story and their relationship as a father and daughter?


'_Stopping, she turned and faced him, his jade green eyes gazing into her own. She was captivated, and she was mad about it. She wasn't supposed to stop. She was supposed to march out of the room with her head held high but she had stopped at the sound of his voice. She had stopped at a single word. No matter how hard she resisted, she had turned, and now, here she was, staring into his green orbs, and completely frozen._

_Slowly, as if approaching a timid child, he came closer, his eyes locked on hers, yet she didn't move. His windswept black hair fell around his eyes and it swayed with every step he took. One more step and he was there, less than an arms length from her. She could feel his breath on her face and she couldn't move her gaze from him. His hand reached for hers and she stayed still and let him take her hand. His hands were strong, but not rough. They were smooth, but not weak. He could lift mountains with those hands, and now, they were holding hers._

_Her heart pounded in her chest and she could swear that anyone within a mile could hear it. She was scared, scared of what was to come. She was weak, she told herself. She couldn't have given in this easily, yet it felt as if her heart was reaching out for him, needing to pull him closer. _

_They were practically nose to nose and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. _What happens next? _she wondered. _

_Then, he leaned in-'_

"Gah!" she screamed.

The blonde girl slammed her laptop closed and rubbed her bloodshot eyes. She glanced at the clock that stood on her desk. _12:24 a.m. _She sighed. It was late, but she didn't care, she had to know where she was going with this story. It felt like trash, a rushed piece of literature that had no direction. She writing blindly, letting each chapter move her forward, and she didn't like it. She wanted perfection, and that meant structure and planning.

"What is it?"

She swiveled in her chair to face the middle-aged blonde man. Walking into the room, he closed the door behind him. "I heard you scream," he said.

The girl nodded. "Writing gets frustrating," she explained.

The man glanced at the clock and cracked a smile. "Sure can, especially when you're doing it past midnight."

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "You don't have to be here, you know. You can go back to sleep. I promise I won't be loud anymore." Instead of doing what she said, the man walked over to her bed and sat down.

"I know that," he said.

"Then why are you still here?" she asked, getting a little irritated.

"Because I want to be," he answered simply.

She swiveled back in her chair to face her laptop. She contemplated reopening it and continuing writing until he went away but at the moment, she was too frustrated and distracted to write. She felt a tug in her gut, an invitation to socialize with the man. She sighed again and moved her grey eyes back to the man who sat patiently on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. "Well?" she asked.

He quirked an eyebrow in question.

She rolled her eyes. "Are you going to say something or just sit there?"

"Sure, I was just waiting to see if you were going to kick me out or not," he replied. "Whether you believe it or not Annabeth, I want to be here. I'm your father and it's my job to be there for you."

"Even at 12:30 in the morning?"

The man chuckled. "Even at 12:30 in the morning, although I'd rather not make a habit of this."

_Fat chance of that happening, _she thought to herself. The thing about being a teenage writer is that you tend to stay up at night writing whatever thoughts crossed your mind in the day, only today's problem, er, yesterday's problem, was that she couldn't write down her thoughts. Why? Because they were too disorganized.

"You're thinking about something," the man spoke.

Annabeth gave him a look. _No kidding._

The man smiled at her expression. "I mean something that's stressing you out," he corrected himself. "You've got a problem on your mind and you're burning yourself out trying to figure it out." Annabeth had no reaction to his statement.

He sighed. "You're going to make this hard aren't you?"

"Well we don't really have the best father-daughter relationship," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's not exactly like I'm going to pour out my heart to you. I'm not going to tell you about my crushes or my personal problems-"

"You have crushes?"

She rolled her eyes. "What teenage girl doesn't?" Honestly Dad, get with the program. I've been a teenager for what, 4 years? That's 1424 days! You would think that he would catch on to the doings of a teenage girl. If not, then watch Disney Channel.

He blinked and subconsciously began rubbing his thumb over his hands. "It's just, kind of a shock. I mean, my little girl's grown up. I've never really realized it." And that's where the truth of their relationship hits. The truth was, that Frederick Chase was a busy man. He also was a married man, to another woman, as in, not Annabeth's mother. He was married to a woman name Susan and had produced two step-brothers for Annabeth, the twins, Matthew and Bobby. Annabeth had never met her mother, but she did have glimpses of her, short memories. A flash of black hair, a smile. A twinkle in two wise, grey eyes. _Her eyes. _

That was another problem with their relationship, she realized. It must have been why their relationship was so strained while her younger step-brothers had a perfect relationship. Annabeth was an outlier, a daughter of another. In some ways, she was a bastard child. Though she was sure her parents were married when they had her, they had divorced shortly after. Meanwhile, Frederick now had a perfect family. A wife and two kids and _her. _She was a dent on the family. At her lowest times, Annabeth wondered whether they would miss her if she left. Once she had left for a day, when she was seven. When she came back, it was almost like she had never left. She was a shadow, never seen, never mentioned unless needed.

Now, here she was, in the middle of the night, talking to her father who apparently wanted to _help _her with her problems. "Well, better get used to it, because I'm only going to get older," she said.

He was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry Annie."

"For what?"

"For not being there."

Annabeth froze. The moment was cliche, something that she would read in a story on the Internet. A father apologizing to his estranged daughter, yet it was happening right now. Strangely, she felt comfort in it when she knew she shouldn't. Cliches are just that, cliches. People repeat them over and over again because they're the easiest thing to do.

She cleared her throat. "Whatever could you being talking about?" she asked in denial.

"Come on Annabeth, you're smarter than that. You have your mother's wit. You know what I'm talking about," he insisted, hands on his knees as he leaned forward for emphasis.

For a second time, Annabeth was frozen. He mentioned her mother. He never mentions her mother. "I have a problem," she finally admitted. She opened up her laptop and unlocked it, revealing the white tab with her story written on it. "With writing, I mean," she said, keeping her eyes locked on the screen, anything but facing what he was doing right now.

In a moment, he was behind her, reading over her shoulder. When he finished what was written, he looked down at the blonde head of his daughter. "So what's next?

"That's the problem," she said. "I don't _know _what's next. I'm writing blindly. I have vague thoughts wandering around my mind but I don't know how to connect them and organize them. It's like bobbing for apples. You don't know where they are and every time you dunk your head in your fishing around and you only randomly get the apple."

Frederick chuckled. "I'm assuming you're not very good at bobbing for apples." Annabeth scowled at the screen and Frederick's laughter quieted. "So what's your plan?"

"I just said, I don't know!" she exclaimed exasperatedly. "I don't know where I'm going with this story! My main characters are already together in chapter five and I only have a few thousand words. I already played the jealous ex-girlfriend card-"

"No, I mean length. Are you trying to write something really long?" he asked.

Annabeth stopped for a moment. "I guess, in a way, that I am. Maybe. Why else would I be this frustrated? I'm running out of ideas and I'm not stooping to cliches-"

"And jealous ex-girlfriend isn't cliche?"

Annabeth sighed. "What I mean is, I don't have enough ideas. I trying to write something long and-"

"Why?"

She turned and looked at him. "What?"

"Why do you feel that you need to write a long story?" he asked. "From what I've read so far, it's pretty good on it's own. Why stretch it? Why push the length and possibly going overboard? Why risk ruining what's already good in the first place?"

Annabeth was stumped. That was a good question. "But isn't length better? Readers respect length," she said.

Frederick smiled. "But they also respect solidness," he pointed out. "You have a solid story on it's own right now. Maybe a few chapters to wrap it up would be good but right now, you don't need to add a ton. It's fine on it's own. It's one of those shorter but nice stories. The ones that warm the heart and bring a smile to your face. It's not bad to write something short and sweet."

Annabeth contemplated this, staring at the keys on the keyboard of her laptop. Short and sweet, not the long 30 chapter stories she had written before. She turned her chair to face her father. "You think it's good?" she asked smiling shyly.

"It is. Though a short story, your characters are well developed and easy to connect and the plotline is interesting. I especially like the spunky best friend. The one that punched the abusive boyfriend. Yeah, I liked her a lot."

Annabeth laughed. "Yeah, she was the funnest to write." She glanced at the clock which now read 12:58 a.m. She yawned and smiled sleepily. "Thanks, Dad," she said adding the last part. Frederick smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "Anytime Annie."

He pulled away from her and smiled. "Good night Annabeth," he said before walking out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him.

"Night Dad."

**Author's Note: Just a little bonding moment. Annabeth's a writer (obviously). I assumed she would be seeing how smart she is and how much she loves reading. I've never really gone into the Annabeth and Frederick Father-Daughter relationship before so this was newbie. Was it any good or not? Thanks for reading! Message me, review, anything. A simple good or bad would do. Hearing from the readers always means a lot.**


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